


It Never Hurts More Than When You Hurt Yourself

by Guanin



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 00:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for <a href="http://grimm-kink.livejournal.com/452.html?thread=601284#t601284">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme. Slightly AU during 'The Three Bad Wolves". Monroe's and Nick's relationship is fractured after Hap's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Never Hurts More Than When You Hurt Yourself

“Oh my god,” Angelina said, ripping herself out of Monroe’s arms after he’d caught her to prevent her from mauling Nick. She glared at Monroe with more disgust than Monroe had ever had hurled at him in his life, and that was saying something. “You have the hots for him.”

“What?” Monroe squeaked. All he’d said was that he didn’t want his carpet getting dirty. Behind him, Nick echoed his exclamation, making heat rise up his neck. Oh, shit. Nick mustn’t find out. It was stupid. Just a stupid, little, not crush, really.

“What the hell happened to you?” Angelina asked. “The only thing you should want to do to a Grimm is eat his heart.”

“Whoa,” Hap asked. “You like a Grimm?”

Monroe ignored him.

“Angelina, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about;” he said. “I barely know the guy.”

“Look at the way you’re protecting him.”

“I don’t want you to kill him. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Then why are you so fucking nervous about it? God, I can practically smell it on you.”

“Can you both please stop talking,” Nick said, more an order than a question. “Monroe doesn’t have a crush on me. That’s ridiculous.”

“What he said,” Monroe said, but something in his tone must have come off as false, for Nick frowned at him, and from what Monroe could see in the five straight seconds he forced himself to look into Nick’s eyes, he wasn’t so certain anymore.

“See?” Angelina said. “Even your buddy doesn’t believe you. I need a drink.”

She started moving toward the kitchen, the best thing for everyone involved, but Nick couldn’t simply let her go, could he? He had to ask her about the insurance policy and accuse her of killing her own brother and Monroe had to restrain her again, earning him a glare so vicious that he thought she was going to spit on him. This time, Nick let her go for her drink, and Hap showed some unusual tact and left them alone, except that Monroe would much rather that Hap had stayed, for then Nick probably wouldn’t be bringing up this very uncomfortable subject.

“You don’t have a crush on me, do you?” Nick asked, looking at him as if he was praying that Monroe would say “no”.

“No, of course not.” Monroe tried for his sincerest tone, but unfortunately, Nick was well accustomed to that one, so through some Grimm or cop sense he could tell it was fake. His eyes widened ever so slightly, a shocked expression crossing his face.

“Monroe.”

“It’s not a crush. Not properly speaking.”

_I just find you very attractive and you have a lovely smell and great taste in wine and you infuriate me and make me want to wrap you up in my bed to protect you from the world at the same time._

“Oh god.” Nick looked down at the floor, stepping away from Monroe, his eyes pained. “Monroe, I have a girlfriend.”

“I know.”

“I love her.”

_Twist the knife in further, world, why don’t you?_

“I would never get between you two.”

Even though he’s practically whimpering with the urge to do so, but nooo, he has to be such a good guy. And he would never risk Nick’s friendship, ever, for if Nick left, Monroe would be alone again in this big, empty house, the walls creeping up around him as his heart choked with regret.

“Nick, I’m sorry. You weren’t supposed to know. It’s just me being stupid. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, I’m sorry I can’t return your feelings.”

He really looked it, too, his eyes all soft with apology, making Monroe’s throat sting even as he loved Nick more for it.

“Don’t worry about it,” Monroe said. “Really. I know you can’t, obviously. I’m sure this thing will just go away.”

Nick couldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Okay.”

What else was there to say?

“Listen,” Nick continued. “I’ve got to go. Please keep an eye on Hap. Don’t let him leave the house.”

“I won’t. He’ll be safe here, I promise.”

||||

“What the hell happened to you?” Angelina asked him, glaring at him over the lip of her whisky. Hap was finally asleep on the couch. He’d peppered Monroe with questions about Nick, even more curious about him than Monroe had been when he met him. If it had been just him and Monroe when Nick arrived, it would have been fine. Why did Angelina have to barge back into his life now?

“I changed, okay? People do that.”

“Maybe he put a hex on you,” Angelina said. “You think of that?”

“Even if he had any idea how to do that, he wouldn’t. He’s a nice guy. He’s fair.”

“Maybe that’s just what he wants you to think. That’s his game. To have a tame blutbad at his disposal, parading you around on a leash.”

“He does not parade me around,” Monroe said, anger spiking in his stomach. “And I’m not tame. I’m in control. There’s a difference.”

“I’m in control. I could have killed your precious Grimm, but I didn’t.”

“He could have killed you, too.”

“And would you have preferred that scenario, Mr. Tame Wolf?”

“I’m not tame. And I don’t want either of you to kill the other. I don’t want any killing, period.”

“Oh, please, Monroe. You can’t tell me you don’t miss it.”

She sidled up close to him, her face losing its mocking edge to slide into an alluring smile, that teasing smirk that used to make him growl with fervent anticipation, his teeth sharpening at the promise of blood.

“I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

She slid in closer, her firm body pressing against him, waving that damn whisky bottle under his nose, and he tried to step back, but she only crept in closer, grabbing his left side to keep him still.

“Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve laced yourself in so tightly that you can’t even enjoy a simple drink.”

He tried to resist, truly, but it was just one drink. Even the bottle was his. He couldn’t really say no to drinking his own liquor.

“He’s not going to return your feelings, you know? There’s no sense pining over him. But I’m right here.”

Her mouth curled around the neck of the bottle, the gesture so provocative it was almost obscene and Monroe remembered all the other things that mouth could do. Wonderful, dangerous things. His nose filled with her scent, desire and menace and every heady possibility in between, everything Nick could never give him, not even the ones Monroe yearned from him so very much. Their late night drinks were probably out now, too. No one wanted to be around someone who was lusting after them. Nick would likely prefer to step back and keep their dealings strictly professional from now on. Monroe couldn’t stand the thought of it.

“I know,” he said, shutting his eyes as the liquor burned down his throat.

||||

“A rabbit?”

Guilt gnawed at Monroe’s insides as he heard the baffled disillusionment in Nick’s voice. It had been eating him alive since he saw Hap lying dead at his door. He should have been there. Why hadn’t he been there? Hadn’t the rational, responsible part of his brain told him to stay put when he looked back at Hap asleep on the couch, so carefree, knowing his buddy would be there to watch his back? But he was hurt and restless and his soul itched and Angelina kept goading him, so eager and beautiful and free and he needed something to wipe Nick’s discomfited look from his mind.

“Yeah. I lapsed.”

It had been so easy. Just turn off your brain and let go. And because he’d been so monumentally stupid, Hap was dead. Nick had every right to be disappointed in him.

“You know,” Nick said, shaking his head. “I understand why you were upset after I left and that she’s your ex, but…”

Monroe couldn’t lift his eyes from his clasped hands on his lap.

“You can say it. I’m an idiot. You’re disappointed in me.”

"I'm surprised at you, is all."

“Trust me, there’s no way I’m letting myself lose control again after this.”

Nick didn’t reply. He stared at Monroe for a long while, his eyes sterner than Monroe had ever seen them. Ice slipped into Monroe's stomach. Did Nick not trust him anymore? But Monroe had broken his promise in the worst way imaginable. How could Nick trust him to keep his word after this? He was sorry. It wasn’t possible for a rational being to hate himself more than he did right now. But that didn’t matter. That wouldn’t make Hap any less dead.

“I went to Angelina’s house last night,” Nick said, clearly not wanting to speak of this any further.

Monroe tried to say something to defend himself, but there wasn't a single thing he could say.

“Does she know that?” he asked, feeling like a scolded dog fleeing with his tail between his legs.

After Nick told him that someone had been snooping in Angelina’s house and Angelina herself emerged from the interrigation room, Nick dismissed him with a curt,

“You should go home.”

Monroe forced himself not to look back as he dragged Angelina out of the station.

||||

After it was all over, Angelina gone and the Bauerschwein in custody, Nick didn’t contact Monroe for three weeks. Monroe didn’t fault him for it. Nick had no obligation to him. Their friendship was still new, unofficial as it were, only recently gaining any semblance to that appellation. He had no right to demand or even expect Nick’s company, especially when he’d fucked up as royally as he had. He was furious at himself. Why shouldn’t Nick be?

It took eight whole days after Hap’s death for Monroe to be able to work on a clock again. Until then, all his time in the house was spent either gazing wistfully at old photos or having his brain numbed by some random TV show, even the funniest sitcoms bringing only a sliver of a smile to his lips. When he finally noticed he was drinking more wine than was healthy, he sat himself at his desk, put away his laptop, and picked up the battered cuckoo clock he’d smashed against the wall. The woodwork was split and broken, the gears all out of order or missing. It might be beyond saving, but he needed to do something constructive, even if it was only another excuse to tune out his mind. At first, he only managed it by fits and starts, setting pieces together for a few minutes before his mind drifted off again into yet another regret, but slowly he compelled his mind to focus on the tiny pieces amplified in the magnifying glass, driving out the memories with clock schematics and the delicate effort required to fit each part in its proper place.

Two weeks later, the clock was still not done. The motor was only a few parts away from working, but the torn back casing still looked as sad and pathetic as he felt. That’s when Nick showed up at his doorstep. Monroe could scarcely believe it when he smelled him outside, actually doubting his nose before he opened the door and saw Nick standing there, giving him a strained smile and holding a six-pack of Monroe’s favorite beer.

“Hey,” he said. “Sorry I haven’t called.”

“That’s alright,” Monroe said, so elated to see him that he would have said anything to get Nick to stay. “I understand. You want to come in?”

Nick had never needed to be invited, always strolling in as if he owned the place, never observing that particular social nicety no matter how much Monroe complained. Now Monroe wouldn’t mind if he did, not a bit, and the fact that Nick no longer felt comfortable doing that made his stomach twist.

“Sure,” Nick said, looking as awkward as Monroe felt as he followed him to the kitchen.

Monroe opened two of the beers, trying to talk his heart into calming itself to a normal rate as he tugged at the lids.

“I’m sorry I was so harsh with you last time,” Nick said when Monroe handed him his beer.

"No, you-you absolutely should have. It was my fault.”

Ordinarily, this is where the other person would interrupt, saying, “No, it’s not your fault, you couldn’t help it, there was nothing you could do”, but. it would all be lies and they both knew it. No sense in false comfort.

“I take it you haven’t been holding up well?” Nick asked, turning his bottle around in his hands, discomfort tensing his features..

“I manage. It’s all I can do.”

Nick nodded. He knew what grief was like.

“No more relapses?”

“No.” Monroe shook his head. “Not a chance. I’m not letting that happen again.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

Despite the chill seeping into their flesh from the cold glass, neither had taken even a sip from their beers.

“Listen,” Nick said. “I need help on a case.”

Of course he did. Why else would he be here?

“I figured,” Monroe said, trying for a smile to soften the starkness of his phrase, but it felt no happier than a limp eel.

“That’s not the only reason I came.”

“I know.”

“I’ve been really busy at work. The station still hasn’t recovered from the shock that one of their own turned murderer.”

“I get it.”

“I just haven’t had the time.”

“Nick, really, I understand. You don’t have to apologize.”

“I just want you to know it’s not because of what…” Nick set his bottle on the counter, eyes looking anywhere but at Monroe. The muscles in Monroe’s chest tightened along with his grip on the bottle. “Because of everything, I guess.”

 _Hap’s death or my liking you?_ Monroe wondered, but he wouldn’t be so stupid as to ask. He took a long gulp from his beer, tongue too numb to savor the cold liquid. Nick was lying. Monroe knew better. Of course Nick had stayed away because Monroe had failed to measure up even to his own standards. Why else would he look so distressed about it? But at least it gave Monroe some hope that Nick cared enough to pretend, even if he was only here because he needed Monroe’s help. Monroe wouldn’t turn him away. Surely Nick knew that. Last time had been, well, special circumstances, to put it as mildly as it could possibly be.

“I appreciate it,” Monroe said.

||||

_Five months later_

Monroe was down to his last two items on the shopping list when he ran across Nick in the supermarket: yogurt and almond milk. He drank regular milk, too, but the almond kind had more protein, which he sorely needed with his vegetarian lifestyle (firmly in force, the meat aisle not even tempting him anymore). It’s sweetness didn’t hurt, either. That’s how he got Nick hooked on it a month ago, so much that as Monroe was putting two cartons in his cart, Nick stepped up beside him to grab one of his own.

“You know,” Nick said as he reached across Monroe. “My food budget used to be a lot smaller before you got me drinking this stuff.”

“Hey, you’ve gotta pay more for quality,” Monroe said, returning Nick’s smile. It still surprised him how comfortable Nick had grown with him again during these past months. After seeing Nick only thrice that first month, they had slowly worked up from Nick restricting himself to asking for help on the odd case to watching a movie together, staying up late sampling rare wine, and having random conversations about nothing. Of course, Monroe wanted more. Instead of withering away like he prayed it would, his liking for Nick had swelled into a far more poignant “l” word, chocking his insides like a 20 foot long parasite worm. But after fearing he’d lost Nick completely, he was grateful to get this much, even if it was only crumbs.

“Have you been sleeping okay?” Monroe asked, noticing the darkness under Nick’s eyes and the waxy sheen of his skin. His posture was all bent, too, his shoulders drooping forward, as if he were too exhausted to hold himself up “You look a little off.”

Nick turned over the milk carton in his hands, looking down at his hands.

“Actually, Juliette and I broke up.”

The milk clattered into his cart a little too hard as Monroe set it down, turning to give Nick his full attention.

“I’m really sorry, man,” he said, meaning every word. Juliette’s relationship with Nick may have been as discomfiting to him as having a piece of straw stuck in his eye, but Nick looked so broken up about it that Monroe couldn’t be happy about her leaving if it caused Nick this much pain. It probably wouldn’t change anything in their relationship, anyway. He doubted that Nick was even interested in men. He’d never shown any inclination in that direction.

Nick nodded.

“Thanks. It just, didn’t work, you know?”

“Yeah. You want to get some lunch or something? Get your mind off it?”

“Your yogurt might go bad.”

“I can get it later.” Monroe’s brow furrowed, fearing he might be overstepping. “Unless you don’t want to. Which is fine.”

“No, I’d like to. I appreciate it. Thanks.”

Monroe soaked in Nick’s grateful smile. It and Nick’s friendly company was probably the best he would get, but he’d take it.

||||

_Two months later_

The movie ended near one in the morning, long after they’d both slumped down on the couch, drowsiness numbing their limbs and urging their eyes to slip shut. Nick looked most adorably rumpled as he sat up and glanced at the star shaped clock on the wall, the only one in the room that announced the correct time.

“Shit, I should get home,” he said, pushing himself to his feet, which his legs clearly didn’t appreciate, given how long it took them to straighten out.

“You can stay if you want,” Monroe said, the words tumbling out of his mouth without being filtered by the sensible part of his brain. Damn sleepiness was making him foolish. But Nick looked to be a second away from collapsing on the couch again. Monroe couldn’t let him drive like that. It would be irresponsible.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” Nick said.

“It’s no bother. Besides, I’m not going to let you drive around when you look like a rag doll.”

“I do not.”

Nick’s objection was halted by a huge yawn that overtook his whole face. Monroe raised a brow at him and Nick’s shoulders dropped, chagrined.

“All right,” he said. “Maybe I am a little tired. I’ll just take the couch, thanks.”

“Hang on a sec. Let me get you something more comfortable to sleep in.”

“I’m fine in this.”

“In jeans? No, you’re not. Now quit complaining and be a good guest for once. I’ll be right back.”

It occurred to him when he was grabbing a pair of sweatpants out of the closet. The last time, hell, the only time he had had someone stay over was with Hap. He’d given Hap some sweatpants and an old shirt, too, the Brown University one that Hap had commented on and obviously Monroe couldn’t get back because it’s what Hap had been wearing when he got shot and it had three bullet holes in it soaked with his blood, blood he should have never have had to shed, because Monroe should have stayed in the house to protect him. He knew he should have even as he snuck out the door and looked back to Hap lying there on his couch, in his home, so oblivious and defenseless and so very, very naïve when he opened the door for his killer. Monroe knew how trusting he was, he knew better, he had been doing so well, should have never, ever. Hap trusted him and now because of Monroe he was dead.

“Monroe?”

Monroe raised his head, startled to see Nick entering his bedroom. When had he sat down on the bed?

“You were taking a while,” Nick said, leaning over Monroe, frowning. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” His voice rasped against the tangle in his throat. “Well, no. I was thinking of Hap.”

Shame burned in his insides as comprehension crossed Nick’s face, but unlike the last time they’d spoken of this so many months ago, there was no recrimination in his eyes, only compassion. The mattress dipped as Nick sat beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t think I told you that before.”

Monroe bit his bottom lip, tugging until the peeling skin stung.

“Thanks.”

Monroe worked on swallowing the tears stuck in his throat, aware that his eyes were moister than usual.

“Here,” he said, holding out the clothes. Nick took them, but instead of going away to change, he remained at Monroe’s side, the clothes on his lap. Monroe closed his eyes, indulging in Nick’s soothing scent, glad for the quiet company.

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed when he next spoke.

“You should get some sleep,” he said.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Nick sounded so concerned that it gave Monroe some trouble to meet his eyes.

“I’ll be fine. Go on.”

Nick did so, but not before giving Monroe a firm squeeze on the shoulder that almost got the tears rolling.

||||

The next morning, Monroe dragged himself downstairs a full hour late for his Pilates. Nick was still asleep on the couch, his face tender and safe from recriminations. Monroe watched him for a long while, the sight a balm on his weary soul, then he moved on to try to jar his body into drowning out his mind for a while.

The aroma of frying eggs and pancakes greeted him when he emerged from his post-Pilates shower.

“I thought you deserved something a little different this morning,” Nick said when Monroe entered the kitchen. “I warn you, though, I haven’t made pancakes in a while, so they might be a little burned.”

“That’s fine.”

Monroe was a little weirded out that Nick was using his kitchen in the way all territorial beings are when someone else touched their things, but after making sure that Nick was using all the correct implements and that he wasn’t scratching a hapless pan beyond repair, he stood back and let Nick work.

“How’d you sleep?” Nick asked.

“I wouldn’t really call it sleep.”

Nick shot him a concerned look over his shoulder, his brow furrowed, but he didn’t comment, for which Monroe was glad.

“Here’s the first batch,” Nick announced, stacking two pancakes on a plate that was already half filled with scrambled eggs. He handed it to Monroe. “I put all the other stuff on the table. You can go ahead. I’ll join you soon.”

Monroe did, finding a fully laid out table, including maple syrup and a steaming cup of coffee. God, he loved that man. It hurt that Nick didn’t feel the same way, but having him there already brightened his morning considerably.

“Monroe?” Nick asked after they had finished a rather tasty breakfast, slightly blackened pancakes notwithstanding.

“Hmm?”

“I know this is rather rotten timing, but I need to ask you something. I’ve been meaning to ask for a while.”

“What is it?”

Apprehension tugged at Nick’s features, sobering Monroe’s fragile contentment.

“That crush you used to have on me? Do you still feel it?”

Too many emotions skittered in Monroe’s head, but he dared not feel hope lest Nick’s questioning not be heading in the direction he’d like.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I just don’t want to assume anything. It’s been a while, after all. And… Now the one with the crush is me. Though that’s not the right word.”

Monroe had to force his lungs to breathe.

“Do you mean that?”

Nick allowed a smile to shine on his face.

“I do. Shall I take your breathless answer as a ‘yes, I like you, too’?”

“Oh hell, yes.”

Monroe reached across the table and pulled Nick close, their mouths meeting halfway as he clutched at the man he’d yearned for so many nights.

“You don’t know how much I wanted to touch you like this last night,” Nick murmured into his lips. “To comfort you. To hold you. You inflict too much pain on yourself.”

“It’s my fault. That’s not going to go away.”

“I understand. Trust me, I do. But it hurts me to see you like this. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Monroe emitted a soft chuckle.

“I never thought I’d get your approval after that. I’m still amazed you give me the time of day.”

“I forgave you a long time ago. It’s time you should, too.”


End file.
